Okay so this is the first story I've written, so don't be afraid to Read and Review! I work so much better when I know how people feel about what I've written.

Chapter 1

(Dreamscape)

Harry awoke to the sound of thunderous steps above his head, a sure sign that Dudley was up and heading to school. Of course, Harry thought bemusedly, there could also just be some cake at the bottom of the stairs and he'd run just as fast. Harry rose slowly from his bed, knocking his head on the support beam that was always just a couple of feet above him. You'd think after living under the stairs for as long as he'd been alive, he would remember the beam was there. Harry waited for the dull ache in his head to pass before getting up. He got dressed and waited for one of the Dursleys to come unlock the small door that kept him imprisoned. As if on cue, he heard the lock on the outside turn, a signal that he must come out right then and there. Harry emerged from the doorway slowly, only to see that it wasn't a Dursley at his door. Instead, he was shocked to see Hagrid. "Hagrid, what are you doing here!?" Harry questioned. "No time now, they're coming!" Hagrid yelled back, already running out the front door of the home. Harry didn't have time to ask who Hagrid meant, for just as he set foot on the front lawn,Harry realized he was in fact standing on top of a large pile of books that were slowly catching on fire. His wand was just out of reach, and Harry knew that he couldn't get to it in time. "Run, Harry, run!" called a voice from the darkness surrounding him. Just as Harry worked up the courage to jump down from the precarious tower of flaming books, he-

"Harry! Good grief, you kept me up half the night with your screams!" Harry opened his eyes, startled to see Ron standing over him, looking as if he had indeed been up half the night. Harry scrambled for his wand, which was on his nightstand, just where he had left it. It was all a dream, Harry thought in relief. He and his bedsheets were both drenched in sweat. "Sorry, Ron," Harry breathed, "horror of a dream." Ron sighed and walked back to his side of the room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. The dream had seemed so real, so alive. Well, up until that flaming book bit. But even that seemed real, at the time. Harry rolled over and glanced at the clock on his nightstand, nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ron! It's nearly seven o'clock! We'll be late for class!" Harry yelled, pulling on his clothes. "And on the first day?! Noooooo!" Ron yelled back sarcastically, choosing to instead lie in bed reading a comic book. Harry made a mental note to chastise him later, he would be late if he started in on Ron now.

Harry got to his classroom just as the tardy bell rang. He slid into his seat as quickly as the professor straightened papers at the front of the class. Harry flipped through the pages of his textbook, trying to find out what he was in for. His classmates snickered around him; The Boy Who Lived was comically unprepared. Harry looked around at them, annoyed. He decided to be the bigger man and focus on his notebook, doodling small swords and stick men fighting each other. Class had only just begun and he was already singled out, as always. The professor – he never did learn her name, actually, not that it mattered anymore – barely had time to get a breath out before a knock came at the classroom door. "Harry Potter, Dumbledore wants to see you. Immediately," said the boy at the door. He looked to be a new student, though Harry couldn't be sure from his seat at the front of the class. The classic 'oooohhhhh' sound went up from the classroom as Harry grabbed his supplies, slid them into his bag, and walked calmly out of the classroom. This wasn't the first time he had spoken with Dumbledore personally, and he knew he would hardly be in any trouble. The boy at the door introduced himself as Orson, firs year. "Harry Potter, pleased to meet you," said Harry, sticking out his hand in greeting. The boy took his hand and shook it heartily, "Oh gosh, I know just who you are, Mr. Potter! You're practically famous! I mean, well-" Harry tuned Orson out after that. He was pretty damn tired of hearing people gush over him, to be honest. Thankfully, Dumbledore's office was just down the hall, and he bayed Orson goodbye, fearing that he would be seeing him again all too soon. Harry knocked on the office door before sticking his head in. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry inquired. But it wasn't Dumbledore who greeted him. Instead, a young twenty-something man with flame red hair and a scraggly soul patch to match stood in the middle of the spacious room. Harry took a step back, a bit surprised to see such a strange looking man in Dumbledore's office. After all, Harry had been attending Hogwarts for a couple of years, and he thought he knew every professor the school employed. The man smiled, sauntered over to Harry, and stuck out his hand to Harry. "Mr. Potter, so nice to finally meet you. I was the one who summoned you from that dreadfully boring class. I have much bigger plans for you." Harry looked at the man, skeptically. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked. "Ah, all in due time, Harry. All in due time. But for now, follow me. We have much work to do." Harry stared at this strange man for a brief moment before he felt compelled to follow him. No, it wasn't just pure compulsion. He was being pulled along at no more than five feet away from the man. The man lead him down a narrow side corridor before arriving at a nondescript wooden door. Harry ventured inside with the man (not that he had much of a choice at this point.) As soon as they entered the door, Harry felt immediately relaxed, and realized he could now move of his own free will. Harry sat in the only desk in the room, save for the large desk at the front that was indicative of a professor's. He slunk down in the chair, took a deep breath, and looked up to meet eyes with the man. He was writing something on the board, but Harry couldn't tell what it was, as the man's body was blocking it. He took this moment to notice a scabbard strapped to the man's back, with the hilt of presumably a sword sticking out of it. The man dropped the piece of chalk he was holding, letting it clatter to the floor. Harry looked up to see 'Mr. O' Sullivan' scrawled on the board in handwriting not much better than a child's. The man turned around, clasped his hands together in front of him, smiled, and said, "Okay, let's get down to business."

Eridium Blight